


Come to Bed

by Sherlock1110



Series: The Happy Triple [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Multi, sulky Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt;</p><p>I want a character begging Lestrade to come to bed. Not for sex (although, I'm not complaining if it goes in that direction) but just because Lestrade has been working for hours/days and his lover just wants him to rest, to curl their body around him and get some really peaceful, blissful sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come to Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John first of all went to find the youngest of their little threesome. He was always in his lab down in 221C. They hardly ever saw him.

After the performance in the fort a few weeks back, Sherlock had had no more experiments go wrong, but he'd kept out the way, as if he was avoiding them.

“Sherlock?”

He was slicing up something slimy and John screwed his nose up at the smell.

“You coming to bed?”

“No,” was his simple response.

“You've been down here all night,” the doctor pointed out, taking a step forward.

“So?”

“So, I'd like to spend a bit of time with my boyfriend, one of them at least. Is that a crime?”

“Go and spend time with Greg, then.”

“You need to come to bed, Babe, you look shattered.”

He groaned in annoyance and very nearly sliced his finger in the next cut.

John grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the stairs. “You're coming with me. You haven't slept in over 48 hours.”

“How do you know? You went out last night.”

“Greg told me you didn't come to bed.”

“He wouldn't know either.”

“Why not?”

“Because he never went to bed.”

“I'm sorry, Sherlock, but it's more feasible that he was the one who went to bed and you were the one who stayed up. Nice try, though.”

“I'm not saying I went to bed. I'm saying neither of us did. Whenever I went up to the toilet, he was in the study.”

“But he's in there now.”

Sherlock shrugged and pulled out of John's grip. “That's not my problem. That's his. I don't need a babysitter, just because I'm the youngest.”

They had reached the stairs up to their apartment and he turned to head back down to 221C.

“Sherlock. No! Bed now!” He grabbed his wrist and tugged him after him up the stairs.

Sighing, resigned, the detective pulled free again and pushed past him, running up the stairs and into to the bedroom. The door slammed behind him. 

 

Sherlock had been right, of course he had, Greg was still in his study. He had his head resting on one hand as he wrote something down in a small notebook.

He looked up when John knocked on the door. It was already open and he was leant against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. He smiled tiredly before looking back at what he was writing.

“You coming to bed?”

He shook his head. “In a bit.” He necked the whiskey that was in a glass beside him before pouring another.

“Sherlock said you didn't go to bed last night.”

“I- no. I was busy. Work's tough at the moment.”

“But 'Lock hasn't been on a case in ages.”

“That's his fault. He said no. That's why I worked late last night and why I'm working late now.”

“He said no to a case? Don't you think that's odd?”

He shrugged. “No odder than the rest of his attitude the past few days. I'm sorry, Babe, but I need to get this done.”

“That bottle of whiskey was full 3 days ago.”

“So?”

“So I'm going to make a deduction like Sherlock and say you've drank most of that tonight and last night and there is absolutely no way you can concentrate. Come to bed.”

Greg sighed. He was probably right. He groaned as he stood up. John made his way towards him, gathering him up in his arms. “Ask Sherlock again. He might have just been in a funny mood.”

“It never normally matters what mood he's in. He's usually guessed there's a case before I've been told.”

“Then we need to find out what's wrong with him.”

“There's nothing wrong with me,” the detective growled. He was sat on the edge of their king-size bed, one hand absently in his pants.

“There is. You've been a fanny for days.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Sherlock stood up and headed to the bathroom. It was Greg who grabbed him this time. He spun the younger man around grabbed his face and kissed him quickly. “Get on the bed,” he grumbled low in his throat.

Sherlock couldn't resist pushing him back and then returning his kiss with gusto. “I told you there was nothing wrong with me.”

“Then can we go to bed?” John asked. He took them both by the neck and pushed them into the mattress.

It was a bundle of limbs for what appeared to be forever until the three men straightened themselves out, chuckling.

It was then Greg realised just how tired he was as he closed his eyes. He cracked them open a moment later to see that his two lovers had settled their heads on either shoulder rather than the pillows they had plenty of.

He sighed, content for the first time in days.


End file.
